Bourbon Thoughts
by FragMinded
Summary: Dean finds Sam on a bender and realizes his brother might be feeling more than his usual melancholy. (First fanfic, guys! This is a tad nerve-wracking! And thank you to the two angels that pointed out my first submission had the code showing!)


Dean turned the corner of the hallway at a stroll, looking for anything to do. It had been a few hours since he had finished the rentals he'd brought back to the bunker. Only about 15 minutes since he'd finally threw down the research notes on Metatron, or lack thereof, that were making his head spin. Now he was wandering.

The waiting for…something…to happen was making him itch.

Absentmindedly, he brought his left hand to rub over the douche-y tribal branding on his right forearm. The touch turned his attention to it and he stopped walking to look. He knew in his heart of hearts that he had done the right thing accepting the Mark of Cain to kill Abbadon. However, the longer he had it, even after killing the bitch, he was starting to wonder about his overly quick, dependent on Crowley, decision. There wasn't much to like about the urge it brought on or the control it wrenched from him when the First Blade was in his proximity…or in his hand.

The Mark throbbed under his fingertips, blurring his thoughts and wrapping him in an unnerving sense of calm…

A small clang snapped his head forward and his eyes into a slight narrow. Facing him now was the door to Sammy's room. Now he was wondering how much of his aimless walking had actually been aimless. A mental scoff and a shake of the head later, he turned to walk away only to stall after the second step.

Things had been rough between him and his little brother for too long now. It hurt him. Admit it out loud or not. While he understood Sam's frustration with him over the Mark and for letting Gadreel wear him to the prom for triaging purposes, he didn't understand why Sam was mad at him for trying to protect him. He was _protecting_ him. Kinda his whole life's job description. Dean had been right before. Had he not sent Sam on a false lead, Abbadon would have taken him and tried to reason her way out of Dean running her through and he would have relented. When it came to Sam, he always did. They couldn't afford that. With Metatron to their front, they needed the red-headed Bitch of Hell out from behind them.

But Dean knew that his brother interpreted his deception as not trusting Sam to help. That wasn't it at all but there wasn't much he could say to convince Sam otherwise. The eldest sighed audibly and raised a hand, rapping his knuckles against the door.

"Sammy?"

No answer.

"Sam, I can hear you in there." Dean listened for a response. When none came he wrapped his hand around the handle and slowly started to push the door ajar.

"Stow the porn, Sammy, I'm coming in." Dean said with forced mirth.

The faux-smile faded when the smell of whiskey hit him like a brick to the senses. Blinking through the normally comfortable aroma, he was forced to take in the state of the room. For not having much, his little brother sure had trashed everything. The covers to his bed were in a pile on the floor. The contents of a duffle were spilled out in several locations near the bookshelf. Some papers were littered near the door and it was their crinkle when Dean took a step inside that elicited a response from the younger Winchester.

"Whatcha wan' Dean…" slurred a listless Sam. He gifted his brother with a slow side glance between strands of hair that had fallen in his face, keeping himself hunched over the desk.

With a raised brow, Dean took a few more steps inside, closing the door behind him. He paused a moment before responding, trying to figure out what was going on with his brother. Sam was usually a neat freak and he definitely didn't decorate with alcoholic aromatherapy. Dude didn't decorate at all, actually.

"You…uh….doin' alright, there, Sammy…?" Dean asked cautiously.

"Oh..pfft…yeah…I'm great, Dean…." Sam's words were slathered with sarcastic, drunken irritability and at the mention of his big brother's name, he leaned back in his chair. He looked Dean over and, despite his inebriated state, didn't fail to notice the absolute confusion on his brother's face. What, was Dean the only one allowed to drink himself into oblivion?

Dean nodded with closed eyes, sucking his lips in through his teeth for a split second before relaxing. Head downturned, he surveyed the desk, not wanting to look his brother in the eye. Something was eating Sam enough to cause him to pull a…well…Dean…and he knew his little brother was baiting him. Not willing to give Sam the satisfaction, he stared hard at the two empty bottles of bourbon that had been previously hidden by his brother's large frame.

"Dude…really?" Dean asked more to himself but Sam's immediate laugh shook Dean's attention straight to his little brother's eyes. They were straight disdainful and…teary?

Must be the whiskey.

Sam let the laughter die and fixed his brother with a look that bordered between pissed and pleading. Adjusting in his chair so that he could rest his elbows back on the desk, he tried to formulate his thoughts into coherent words. It wasn't working so well for him.

Dean sensed it. His brother had something he wanted to say. Normally he'd be in no mood for his little brother's drama but he had little else to do at the moment and maybe it was time they got everything out between them. Dean tried his most common tactic against Sam when he wanted them to talk and Sam was stalling.

"I thought you usually preferred those girly…fruity…cocktails. Like "Fuzzy Navel" or…ooo…"Sex on the Beach!" Dean cocked his head upward with a crooked smile that reached his eyes.

"Really…Dean?" Sam's response was slow and despite him knowing Dean was egging him, he took the bait. Dean hadn't taken Sam's bait earlier but Sam was in need of this talk enough, he didn't care how it happened. There was just the minor issue of getting exactly what he meant out in a way Dean would understand. He looked down at the desk he was propping himself up on, studying his hands intensely.

Dean sighed and let the smile fade. "Samm-"

"Don't. I can't…you have no idea…." Sam was getting frustrated with his broken thought pattern but he knew he needed to just spit it out, fragmented or not. He lifted himself off the desk again and turned the chair to face Dean so he could lean back and not have to strain to look up at him. In hindsight, he probably should have just stuck with one bottle.

Dean was about to interject his own thoughts when he caught sight of what Sam had hidden near the back of his desk. Although it shouldn't be odd for his brother, one of the best hunters he had ever known, to have an angel blade in his room, it being unceremoniously stored within reach of a drunken Sam made him uneasy. No amount of wondering could help him figure out why. Dean turned his gaze back to Sam who had not missed his noticing of the blade. It did not help when Sam looked down, almost as if out of guilt. The wariness in Dean increased enough to get his heart racing.

"Dean…I've been thinking…." Sam started, still trying to work his words out of the murkiness of his alcohol-induced haze. "You should never have…." Stifling his tears that had suddenly started an onslaught, he caught his words and cleared his throat. "…you should have let me go….in that church…."

There it was. Dean was expecting something but not this. Especially since they had been over this. Several times. Though the eldest Winchester got the unnerving feeling that this time was a little different than Sam's usual beating of the proverbial dead horse.

"Sam, man, c'mon…we've been over this…" he stated, his tone pleading in hopes his brother would let it go but he let the words trail off as Sam started to nod in agreeance.

"Yes…we have….but…" Sam fixed his eyes on Dean's before continuing. "…But now I'm even more sure that you should have just let me complete the trials. You should have just let me die..."

Hearing the words out loud made Sam feel uneasy but it was nothing compared to the reeling his brother had done at the word "die." Like that was a taboo word. To Dean, in relation to Sam, it was.

"Why? So you could not let me down again?" Dean stated, watching Sam flinch at his words and replaying the moment in his head when his brother had told him that that had been his greatest sin.

"Like I haven't let you down? Like I haven't let everyone we've ever known down? Like Kevin?" He hadn't intended it but Dean's voice grew louder and more aggravated as he spoke.

Sam, in counter, withdrew into himself; his head shaking gingerly.

Dean didn't know whether to hit Sam right now or hug him. The Mark throbbed eagerly against his flesh and he found himself balling his hand into a fist.

"Damn it, Sammy…" he breathed.

Sam knew this was how his weight-of-the-world bearing brother would react and was ready for it. He glanced over to the burn mark on his brother's arm and grimaced at how tight Dean was white-knuckling it. He'd have to walk this rope carefully.

"Let us down, Dean? Like you said…all you've ever done…every decision you've ever made…was to protect me or…anyone else we've ever cared about. You take on…all this burden…and when I try to help, you push me away. To protect me." Despite himself, Sam air-quoted the second use of the word "protect" before letting his hands fall heavily back into his lap. His head was swimming now but he knew they were just getting started.

Dean rolled his eyes at the exaggerated air quotes and turned his head away briefly, using concentrated breaths to calm the unnecessary fury building within him. It took some effort but he eventually let the tension in his arm, and the rest of his body he had come to notice, fade away. His heart, however, was still pounding.

Sam waited while his brother calmed himself. He wanted to reach a certain point but didn't want Dean to get pissed and leave…or punch a wall. That thing on his arm worried Sam so much. The sheer glee his brother had displayed when killing the vampire nest or the repeated blows to an already dead Abbadon. That cursed thing was bringing out something in Dean that scared Sam. And, as usual, he couldn't help but feel like it was his fault. Dean may have made the decision, but if Sam had just finished the trials and not let brotherly love get in the way…again…Dean might be missing him right now but he wouldn't be bearing the mark of the Father of Murder. Kevin would still be alive. Dean and Cass could focus on Metatron instead of dealing with a still-demon Crowley and a raging Knight of Hell. If only…

"Sam."

Sam pulled himself out of his thoughts and looked up at Dean, not realizing until it was too late that he had been crying. He reached up with both hands and slid them down his face to rid it of any trace of tears, clearing his throat while doing so.

"All of this, Dean, all of it…is on me." Sam ignored Dean's scoff and kept on, his voice breaking the more he spoke. "Gates of hell closed. No Abbadon. No Crowley. No Gadreel. Kevin would still be her-"

"Sam-"

"And no Mark of Cain." Sam finished his thought through his brother's interruption. He lifted his eyes to meet Dean's, no longer caring how red and puffy they must have looked. The pretense was exhausting him and all he wanted right now was for Dean to see.

Dean did see. See that his brother was drunk and wanted to take on the blame for everything, per the usual. Dean had been right initially. He was in no mood for this shit.

"Your fault, Sam? _I_ made the damn deal with Cain. _I_ tricked _you_…into letting Gadreel in. How in the hell is that on you?"

"Because if I had finished the trials and died like I was supposed to, Dean, Gadreel would _never _have had to be let in and Abbadon would be in Hell! No Mark of Cain needed to kill her because I….I could have sent her and all the other black-eyed sons o' bitches, back to Hell!" Sam had stood at some point during that tirade and was pleased with how steady he'd managed to keep himself. He'd also started yelling back at his brother, which did no favors for the pounding in his head. Made his voice sound miles away.

Dean's eyes were wide and his mouth hung open for lack of words. Sam was right. He knew it. He didn't want it to be the truth, but it was. Though he needed to get his little brother off of this train of thought. It wasn't going to do anyone any favors for Sam to be like this right now. It was all over and done with. No taking it back.

Dean's eyes caught sight of the blade again and a thought surfaced. Tilting his head to the side and fighting the pain in his jaw from clenching it so hard, he decided to take the shot. He prayed that he was wrong.

"So…so…what? You were just gonna throw in the towel?" Dean growled at his little brother, who looked at him with mild confusion. Dean gestured at the blade, sharply, with his head and Sam turned to look at it, pulling his lips back into a hard line. "You were just gonna quit!?"

"What? No!" Sam shot back at his brother, but the waver in his voice gave him away.

Dean glared daggers at him and it was as if the temperature in the room had gone up. Sam was starting to feel hot. He _had_ thought about calling it quits via angel blade. Only for a second, but still. The length of the thought didn't matter. Not to Dean.

Sam sank back in the chair, leaning forward with his elbows braced on his knees, head in his hands. No point in lying to Dean now that his brother had probably figured it out. Insulting his intelligence further would only make the situation worse. He ran his hands through his hair, moving it from his face and then gave Dean the most apologetic look he could muster.

"Yes. I _was_. But-"

Before Sam could rally that second thought, he was being grabbed and thrust hard against the wall, knocking over the lamp on his desk. He tried to steady the obscurity of his vision caused by both the alcohol and impact. By the time he could see straight, Dean was an inch away from his face. And if looks could kill.

"What would that have fixed, little brother, huh? You're not doing the trials anymore. It's not gonna bring Kevin back." He slammed Sam against the wall again. "It's not going to close the Gates of Hell..or..or..get rid of this thing on my arm!"

Dean let Sam go and swung, hard, against the side of his head. Sam stumbled and fell against his desk. The Mark started to warm.

"You would just be dead and everything that has happened would be for nothing!" Dean reached out to grab Sam again but Sam stabilized himself against the desk enough to kick Dean away. They both staggered for a moment, trying to regain their stature before the other. Sam, despite his insobriety, was a tad quicker to steady. He stood and took a shot at Dean's left temple. Dean blocked with his left arm and came up with a shot to his little brother's ribs. The impact brought a rough grunt from Sam, who lost his balance and fell against the bed.

Dean grabbed the angel blade off the desk and straddled his brother, pointing the tip at his throat.

"You want to leave me so bad you're willing to die for nothing?" Dean spat, feeling nothing but unadulterated rage.

"Leave you…?" Sam gasped, feeling the weight of his brother on top of him and his aching ribs. "All of it _was_ for nothing….Dean…." He looked up and sought his brother's gaze. Dean's eyes were inflamed and wet with his own feelings of anger and disbelief.

"What did…" Sam swallowed hard and felt cold steel. It was then that he realized Dean was holding the blade to him and his right arm was shivering. "What did keeping me alive do, Dean? Who did that help? Save for you!? At least dead, I wouldn't have to watch you lose yourself to that Mark! And you have the gall to look me in the eye and say everything is ok!" Sam shifted so he could prop himself up on his elbows as he spoke while Dean instinctively adjusted the blade so it was the same distance from Sam's neck but so that he wouldn't run himself through with it as he moved.

"Dean…" Sam implored, unable to decipher the look on his brother's face. The rage was fading but…

"Who did that help…?" Dean whispered to himself as much as to Sam. A soft smile twitched his lips that was neither happy or relieved. He was still pissed but he softened enough to lower the blade. Neither really noticed that it was still pointed towards Sam, just no longer at his throat.

"I told you once that I wouldn't have done the same for you. Under the same circumstances." Sam started talking and that brought a hard, heated look from Dean.

"Oh, I remember…" Dean said through gritted teeth, his grip on the blade tightening.

"I lied." Sam's voice barely audible through him choking back his remorse; gaze turned downward initially was now glancing up to meet his brother's. Dean's head snapped back just a fraction and his eyes widened, eyebrows raised. His mouth moved like he wanted to speak but couldn't. He'd thought Sam was fronting that day but to hear him admit it…his temper started to melt.

"I know why…you did what you did. Hell…I've…we've…done the same stupid shit so many times. Because we're family. Because we're willing to let the world burn if it means saving each other."

Dean pursed his lips listening to Sam as he spoke and he knew a 'but' was coming.

"But…"

Dean mentally scoffed. Yup.

Sam continued. "…the secrets, man…"

Dean got where this was going. Come what may, they could fight whatever as long as they had each other. But they kept trying to hold each other at arm's length to protect one another. It was as tedious as it was stupid. _But, _Dean thought with apathetic amusement…

"I get it, Sam. I do." Dean lifted his hand to rest on his brother's shoulder. "But if I had asked you, if I _could_ have asked you…about Gadreel…you would have said no, man. I mean, we stopped the trials so that you wouldn't die and then you were still on that one-way road to Death's door. I couldn't just let you go like that…I couldn't."

Sam nodded softly as Dean spoke. He wouldn't have said "Yes." He was more than willing to go; to not be the cause of anyone's hurt anymore. And after Dean had tricked Sam into letting Gadreel in, even if he had told his brother the truth, Sam would have displaced the angel and died anyway. Dean was right. At least, though, all the blood shed while Sam was riding shotgun in his own meat suit could have been avoided.

"That's why I said 'I was.'" Sam responded, indifferent now, energy and emotion drained. The last few moments had taken a toll on him and now all he wanted to do was knock the hell out. However, Dean's look of utter confusion managed to shake a short chuckle from him.

"Was…what?" Dean asked, mildly irritated at his brother's amusement but nowhere near as heated as he'd been before. He noticed that he'd put the blade down at some point. The Mark was no longer warm and his arm no longer tense.

"_Was_ going to end it. In a drunken stupor. For a split _second_ I had reasoned that i' t'would be for the best. No one else hurt...cause o' me…" Sam's words became increasingly sluggish as he spoke.

Dean narrowed his eyes at his brother and then glanced down, nodding. He picked the blade back up and climbed off the bed. Leave it to Sam to not realize what his death would have done to him. Not hurt anyone else? _Yeah, _Dean chided, _except for me…_

"I'll never understand what goes on in that head of yours…" Dean muttered. He stepped over to the desk and replaced the blade.

Sam was partially propping himself up on one elbow, squinting to see Dean. The come-hither pose elicited a proper smile from his big brother.

"That makes two of us…" Sam smiled back languidly at Dean, not really knowing what the other was smiling at but it was a good feeling. Dean didn't smile much lately. "Oh, and…uh….likewise." He gestured towards Dean with his head and raised both brows with a smirk in a show of playfulness.

With a deep look of fondness for his idiotic little brother, Dean grinned and shook his head.

Sam fell back against the bed and was out before his head hit the pillow. Dean began to wonder if he'd punched him a little too hard.

_Nah_, he thought, _he needs to sleep this off._

He decided on leaving the room but not before grabbing the blade again and taking it with him; not taking any chances his brother would wake up with another desire to go 6 feet under.

The next morning, Sam walked into the kitchen rubbing his head, nursing the after effects of last night's activities. Dean was already in the kitchen sipping on his 5th cup of coffee since last seeing Sam.

"Hey." Sam managed, holding his hand up to block the light from his oversensitivity.

Dean looked up at Sam and fought to keep his smile under wraps, guessing it was too soon to start poking at his brother and hoping against all odds that Sam didn't remember most of what happened last night.

"Hey! Mornin', sunshine." Dean teased lightly.

Sam narrowed his eyes and shook his head at his brother's playful slight. Fumbling with a cup that seemed clean enough he poured himself some coffee and settled in at the table opposite Dean.

Dean pulled out his flask and added some of…whatever the hell he kept inside of it…to his own coffee and offered to add some to Sam's. Sam made a faux gagging noise and waved him off.

"Uh, no, thank you…" Sam scrunched up his face at his brother's ploy before picking up his cup and moving it away from Dean. He brought it to his lips and took a long sip, reveling in the warmth and strength of the brew.

Dean didn't even try to quell the levity he felt in that moment. Sam never could handle hangovers very well and it normally put him off of anything harder than beer for a few days. Never failed to amuse him.

"So…uh…how'd you sleep?" Dean asked, trying to subtly prod for how much his brother might remember.

"Like shit." At Dean's raised eyebrow Sam added, "Kinda what happens when your brother decides to go Mike Tyson on you." Sam answered with a furtive glance and smirk.

Dean shrugged and made like it was just a thing but, inwardly, he was cursing. Of course he remembered.

"You deserved it." Dean offered.

"How!?"

"You know how! We don't just check out when things get difficult. We fight."

"…Um…I didn't. Hell, I don't think I was ever going to. I was drinking."

"Yeah, drinking and thinking. Two things that should never go together." Dean mused.

"Yeah.." Sam couldn't argue with that logic. He regretted last night to the degree that the thought of leaving his brother ever even crossed his mind. Everything else? That was necessary. Even the blows he took to his head and ribs. Hell, that was a normal Tuesday for Sam.

"Sammy…you know none of this is on you, right?" Dean asked, suddenly serious, as he cast a wary look at his brother, who returned a pained expression. Though due to the hangover or Dean's question, he was unsure.

"No. I don't, Dean…." He trailed off when Dean shook his head and turned away from him. Sam offered up, "But I do know that I am not leaving you here to do this alone." He peeked up at his brother from over the cup as he downed the last of his coffee. Dean had turned back to look at him, lip tucked under his teeth.

Dean nodded but said nothing. He tapped his fingers on the table for a moment before standing and walking his cup to the sink.

Sam waited patiently for him to return, knowing his brother would want this discussion over, documented and archived as soon as possible. When Dean didn't immediately return to the table, Sam stood and brought his own cup to the sink and pretended to be busy washing it out, sparing half-glances at his brother while he did so.

Dean was leaning on the counter with both hands. It was his turn to bring up something.

"I am the one who has to kill Metatron. I'm the only one that can." Dean studied his brother who had stopped washing the cup in the middle of Dean talking. The look on Sammy's face said that Dean was in for an argument…but that's not what he needed right now.

"Sammy…I do need you to have my back on this…but this is my fight. Not yours."

It was no mystery that the Mark was having an adverse effect on Dean and that holding the First Blade made him go kill crazy, but if Dean thought Sam was going to let him go this alone, then the Mark must be affecting his brain too. However, Sam also knew that Dean thought this would redeem him for the choices he'd made over the past year and although he didn't want to lose his brother to the Mark or to his quest for revenge, he didn't want to take that away from him.

Instead of saying what was on his mind, Sam steeled himself and nodded as genuinely as he could at his well-to-do big brother. As was the norm for the Winchester family, he was going to comfort his brother with what he wanted, no…needed…to hear...but he'd be damned if he was going to abandon Dean.

Ever.

"Then I'll be here to keep you straight until the big prize fight." Sam half-smiled and patted Dean's arm before turning to leave the kitchen.

Dean's gaze followed his brother until he was out of sight. He knew Sam was bullshitting him but he'd just have to deal with that as it came. Right now, he was just glad they were talking.

The thought brought less joy than he'd have liked, though, as he stared down at his hands, noticing now that they had begun to grip the counter tighter. He stood straight and flexed them, attempting to work the strain out and gather back his control. Dean turned to look once more at the doorway where Sam had disappeared into the hall. The Mark pulsed and the sensation steeled him for what he knew he'd have to do. The price that he would have to pay was well worth his brother's safety. Even if it meant Dean would no longer be there to ensure it. Sammy was the stronger brother. He'd be ok. But…

"I'm sorry, Sam…"


End file.
